


The personal journals of Dr. Simon Glass

by lanondolce



Category: SCP Foundation
Genre: Diary/Journal, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Phobias, Psychologists & Psychiatrists
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29680047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanondolce/pseuds/lanondolce
Summary: While working for the Foundation, Dr. Glass has come across many...interesting, people. People who happen to be his patients. Aka, his problems.Where to even start with some of these absolute human disasters? He hopes that by writing it all down on paper, he might finally be able to make sense of his co-workers.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	1. An introduction to Dr. "Alto Clef"

Well, seeing as I'm the only one who's ever going to be reading this, I guess there's no use in wasting time with pleasantries or introductions. My name is Dr. Simon Glass, and here I will be reporting anything I deem worthy of note, regarding some of my more difficult patients.

Perhaps "difficult" isn't the right word. Every human being is complex in their own way, has certain quirks and oddities. But while some quirks are harmless in nature, others...are not, and, well, I guess that's where the line between oddity and ailment is drawn. And that's where I come in.  
It does not surprise me in the slightest, that almost everyone working at this facility is...some degree of not okay, to put it gently. Of course, that's a bit of a blanket statement, and I'm not even sure wether it would include myself-but I'm getting off topic.

Anyways, the date today is October 11, 2018- I should have probably stated that beforehand, no? I'll do so next time. 

Today, I visited Dr. Alto Clef, my superior and coworker. Or, well, that's the name he goes by, at least. Or the name I assume he goes by. He only ever signs all of his work with that aforementioned musical note-and everyone took to it. I'm almost certain it's not his real name, and in his personnel file he's listed as "A█████ H████ C███". As you can very well gleam, it's not information I have access to. But I guess, for now, this fact is irrelevant, since I do not know wether the alto clef holds any significance for him. 

I previously mentioned that these logs-journals? Reports? I'm still not sure what to call them-would be dedicated to "difficult patients". And, if there is such a thing, "Alto Clef" is the poster child.   
I feel that deep down he resents his Foundation-mandated psychiatric evaluations as much as I do. Or, no, I don't resent them, per se, I simply get this tight feeling in my chest and gut when I know his visit is looming. (Apprehension, the word I'm looking for is apprehension)

Dr. Clef...well, how does one even begin to describe him? I shall start from the basics: he is a white European male, his age is undisclosed (though from the thin lines in his face, I would wager he's in his mid forties), he has short blond hair, which often appears matted and oily (he does not smell particularly unpleasant, but he does not seem to practice exceptional personal hygiene, either. Simple laziness? More likely a symptom of MDD, or some other mood disorder) and, a most curious fact about him-he has three eyes. Each is a different color: the right is blue, the left is green, and the middle one resting atop his eyebrows is hazel*. I've inquired about them multiple times-and his responses have varied. Sometimes, most of the time, he says he has absolutely no clue what I'm talking about, and that my mind must be playing tricks on me. The most irritating thing is that there is technically no way to prove him wrong-his likeness never shows in pictures or recordings of any kind. Yet another oddity.  
On other occasions, he's said he's the elder god "Y'Kago Fukoffgo" (which I am fairly sure he's made up, as I cannot recall such a deity existing in any occult or esoteric novel, be it fictional or otherwise) and that his third eye can see through people's souls and name all their sins. Whenever he does this, he proceeds to stare at me intently, as if a fly landed on my face, and begins prattling off, a string of nonsensical babble spewing from his lips. "My sins", he insists. I will refrain from writing down any of that vulgar rubbish.

I feel it is at this point I should mention, Dr. Alto Clef is also a pathological liar.   
I have not yet been able officially diagnose him with mythomania, though it seems it's only a matter of time. Even Clef himself, oddly enough, is not only aware of this, but fairly open about it. He wears "liar" proudly, like a golden-rimmed boy scout badge on his chest. I would take this as a good sign in any other patients, as acknowledging one's personal faults and flaws is the first stepping stone towards betterment, but in his case... it's just infuriating, really. Tiring.

I cannot trust a single word that comes out of his mouth. About how he's feeling, what he's been doing, anything about his past. The only way for me to ascertain anything truthful from his statements is by cross-referencing them (besides, the Foundation won't allow me to access his files. Shouldn't I be allowed to have all the information required to properly treat my patients? What nonsense)-seeing where he slips up, where he forgets, where the nonsense happens to make the smallest amount of sense. It doesn't happen often. But I think I'm starting to notice some patterns, or at the very least some consistencies, sparse as they may be.

There is only one of his habits which I successfully identify, and have understood the root cause of; I can always tell when he is tired, or otherwise "feeling blue". He foregoes his more creative quips and jabs for a simple "your mom". On some days, it gets to a point where he's not unlike a broken record, and "your mom" is the only answer he offers anyone, no matter the question. I'm fairly certain he's written these words on some official documents.

And today's visit happened to be one of "those days" for him. From the get-go, he made none of his attempts to perturb me or "ruffle my feathers", so to speak. He simply stared blankly at me, with a look I couldn't place, answering, you guessed it, "your mom", to any inquiry. It didn't even matter if I had directly addressed him or not, he would somehow find a way to include my mother in his following statement. I'd almost commend his commitment to the schtick, if it weren't for the fact his stubbornness is interfering with my work. Perhaps he feels the same. 

Needless to say, Alto Clef is a mess of tangled strings I have absolutely no clue how to understand, let alone unravel. I won't lie and say that I'm not...curious at all, no, he intrigues me greatly. But I'm afraid my irritation far surpasses my interest. After all, when dealing with a pair of tangled, stubborn headphones, one feels more like setting them ablaze or cutting them into tiny pieces with a pair of scissors, rather than patiently undoing the knots.   
But Clef is not a pair of listening devices, he is a human being. And as such, it is my duty to help him. I must see to him and his mental health like any of my other patients. (Though he clearly does not wish for my help, and the more he pushes me away, the less I feel inclined to do my job, as unprofessional as that may sound. Should I even be saying these sort of things? Even though it really doesn't matter, I feel a bit of guilt as I write this down. But it is also cathartic in a way)

That being said, and I chastise myself for thinking this, I sometimes wonder if he'd be better suited for life in one of our many cells, than as a researcher.

*Though I am positively certain his right eye is blue and his left is green, I can also swear on the life of me that at times, it's the other way around. I tried bringing it up once, and of course, he denied it, and tried to pin me as the fool. But there was a flash of something in his eyes which was most curious. Had he not been aware of the fact the colors had switched places? And yet I'm so sure he had done it to mess with me.   
Whatever the case may be, I know he's been doing it on purpose ever since. Not that I have solid evidence for that, but I'm going off his track record.

I will update this file when I have more information to report on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sjdkfkfkg idk what I'm doing
> 
> This is a little stress relief fic that I might update with other Foundation drs, or foundation characters that have only appeared in one shot articles. I find these sort of journal like things fun to write
> 
> I'm afraid I made simon too...sarcastic. dry. Oh well. I blame it on my own less than fantastic mood, and the fact I've been binging tma. Jon must be rubbing off one me
> 
> Ty for reading!!


	2. On Captain Wells' phobia of potatoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter references the events of SCP-1689 and 1689-I

October 13, 2018 

The word "phobia" is one you hear many times in my line of work. Even outside of the field of psychology, it is still fairly common for it to be brought up in conversations; arachnophobia, nyctophobia, thanatophobia...all terms that would ring anyone's bell, especially since they are so familiar to many.

Fear is healthy, much to the dismay of some. To live without fear would be a curse, not a blessing (look no further than the case of SM-046), but, much like nearly everything in life...too much of it can end up greatly disrupting one's daily routine, or even sabotaging job opportunities. 

In most cases, however, things tend not to escalate to such a degree. But in some cases, they do anyways.

Today I sat with Captain Cameron Wells (male, 52 years of age, European), a man who due to recent developments has developed potnonomicaphobia, the fear of _Solanum Tuberosum_. More commonly knows as the potato.

I happened to have said "recent developments", correct? Well, that isn't entirely the case; it's been a few months since the incident occured, but it has left Mr. Wells positively traumatized. Not that I can blame him- I was given access to Exploration Log 1689-I, and, well, I must admit that I too would not come out completely unscathed from such an endeavor. The very pages seemed to smell faintly of rancid potato, though perhaps that was just my mind playing tricks on me. 

I did what I always do and tried my best to make him comfortable (apparently, he hadn't sought me out on his own accord, a friend had recommend he come see me) by asking general questions about him. He appeared tense at first, but gradually slumped into his chair as his muscles relaxed. This, predictably, changed when the dreaded topic of spuds came up.  
The change wasn't obvious at first, he merely stood up a little straighter and his eyes narrowed. I couldn't help but get the feeling he was also attempting to put up some sort of front-appear less scared than he actually was, perhaps? I get it, the macho manly man can't possibly afford to be spooked by a mere food product, but, I feel that sort of behavior is really unnecessary in a psychologist's office. But his masculinity is not today's topic of discussion. 

I asked if he could talk me through his experiences, and he merely grumbled something about reading the files myself. I replied that I had already done that, and that I needed to hear his personal account on the subject, about how he had been dealing with the aftermath of the experience. He didn't seem too keen, and was very vague, handwaving most of the details-the details which I needed.

Twenty minutes into the sitting I figured that these methods were getting me nowhere, and I decided to...assess the situation via different means. To try and figure out exactly how severe his potnonomicaphobia actually is (I was told a couple weeks back that somebody trashed the cafeteria at Site-43 because a researcher slipped a french fry in one of the other personnel's milkshakes. I...have the feeling I know exactly who it was, but, I would've rather heard it coming from Wells' own mouth instead of flinging what could've been misconstrued as an accusation at him). I started describing the potato, asked him how it made him feel-he seemed fine so long as the stimulation wasn't visual, he must not have a very active imagination or photographic memory-but, when I eventually did pull out a picture of a potato...well, that's when things became slightly more difficult. 

He began visibly sweating. From the way his face blanched and his fists clenched, for a moment I was worried if a mere JPEG would've been enough to trigger a panic attack-I quickly tucked the image away and assured him that he was safe here, and that I wouldn't push him beyond boundaries he didn't feel comfortable crossing, but that just seemed to further aggravate him.

He started gesticulating wildly, asking me in a loud tone of voice "just who I thought he was" and a number of other profanities relating to...potatoes. This agressive reaction greatly confused me, and I backtracked my steps in an attempt to understand what I might've done or said to upset him, but before I could come to any sort of conclusion, he stormed out of my office.

  
...I guess I'm glad that on one hand, he managed to externalize whatever latent feelings of resentment he had been harboring, but on the other, I wish he hadn't directed his vitriol towards me. 

Luckily, I was not physically harmed (then again, as irritable as Captain Wells appears, he doesn't seem to be prone to acts of extreme violence. Though I did feel at moments I was at risk of being punched).   
I kept thinking back on his outburst-what could have possibly caused it? A phobia usually does not warrant this sort of behavior. Could it have something to do with poor anger management? I doubted it.

My doubt was not entirely unfounded, and after poking and prodding around, I found out that his co-workers have not exactly been kind to his plight.

I was informed by Dr. Alba-who, against all odds, actually appeared willing to talk- that as of late, making fun and tormenting Captain Wells has become...something of a sport at a number of Foundation Sites.  
Wether it is hiding potatoes in his rucksack, plastering pictures of potatoes all over the walls of his dorm, or just constantly bringing them up in conversations, they seem to find the notion of aggravating him highly entertaining. I have a sneaking suspicion the outburst at the cafeteria was most likely just the end result of a long series of petty, tasteless pranks.

How irritating. Sometimes I am taken aback by the lack of empathy in other people. Sure, I admit, his particular phobia might appear amusing to some degree, even to myself-but one cannot help trauma, nor the feelings of distress exposure to certain elements causes in individuals.

What to do, what to do...I have a feeling Captain Wells won't be returning to my office anytime soon. I don't want to pressure him into anything, that would most likely just make matters worse-but I'm thinking exposure therapy might be the best course of action. I'll see if I can get a hold of Wells' coworkers in the meanwhile, give them a stern talking to-if I could catch them in the act of pestering him, that would be ideal. If I cannot work with the Captain in a direct manner at the moment, trying to reduce the amount of stress coming from outside factors could help.

…I feel this is going to end poorly if I try. But I will. I have to. This is my job, after all. And I do want to help Captain Wells.

I will update this file with my progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, my mind wanders and I think about the burlap sack of potatoes scp. It has a special place in my heart. Perhaps it's because I love potatoes 
> 
> I know this is just a one shot character, but I really wanted to explore this concept. I always think just how awful working for the Foundation must be, and how the personnel deal with the after effects. I get that the appeal of the foundation is the monsters, but what can I say, I'm just a sucker for that delicious trauma  
> (Also, some dr. Ocs might start showing up. Don't worry too much about them, their appearances will be sparse, the focus will always be the canon characters)
> 
> Anyways, ty for reading!! Next chapter is just a really brief lil bonus


	3. Interlude-I

What does "twink", mean? Captain Wells called me that during today's sitting.  
I wouldn't have payed the odd insult any attention, had this not been a word that has come up in other, previous conversations. Always directed towards myself.

Sometimes, the person addressing me says it in a tone of voice that could even be described as "teasing", and other times, it is clearly meant to be interpreted as an affront.

…Well, this is the twenty first century, and we humans have access to the largest library of manmade knowledge so far in the history of our species. As soon as I return to my laptop, I shall take advantage of the internet's bountiful fruits, and look it up.

(…)

…I looked it up.

Perhaps I should try growing out a beard again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Si


End file.
